


Of Weddings and Weldings

by Oberwald



Series: Cheery and Bashfull (Slight AU where Raising Steam Never Happened) [4]
Category: Discworld - Terry Pratchett
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-30
Updated: 2017-10-30
Packaged: 2019-01-26 19:16:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,343
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12564344
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Oberwald/pseuds/Oberwald
Summary: Sergeant Cheery Littlebottom and Grag Bashfull Bashfullsson were intending to have a small wedding. But their upcoming nuptials are the talk of the town, and suddenly it's a matter of diplomatic importance that their wedding is very large, and that a great very many people are invited.





	Of Weddings and Weldings

**Author's Note:**

> Hi, friends!
> 
> Some of you may have noticed that this changed, mysteriously, from an unfinished multi-chapter story to a finished one-shot. This is because, well, I read Raising Steam and realized, to my horror, that this is no longer canon compliant. 
> 
> And I know it’s silly, but it is difficult for me to write non-canon compliant fanfic. So! I may write more of this in the future, but for now I will be focusing my energy on A new Cheery x Bashfull story (I’m still committed to the ship) with the following differences: 
> 
> \- it will be set after Raising Steam  
> \- both Cheery and Bashfull will be older and more mature  
> \- both Cheery and Bashfull will have dated in the past and likely won’t be blushing virgins  
> \- both Cheery and Bashfull will be more “established”/wealthy  
> \- Bashfull will be stuffier, and will dislike Ankh-Mordor in spite of being forced to live there  
> \- Moist and Adora won’t have a baby (....yet)  
> \- The Low King will be a Low Queen   
> \- it will be a kickass slow burn 
> 
> I’ve already started writing the new one, so it should be up soon. I hope you all come back and check my writing!

“Just black tea, and maybe some plain cheese sandwiches,” Sybil said thoughtfully to Patience, the terrified-looking cook. “Oh, and have some dog biscuits on hand in case he brings Mr. Fusspot.”

“Mr. Fusspot?” Patience said faintly. 

“Yes, that’s the dog that owns the bank but Havelock has kind of adopted him,” Sybil said airily. 

While the syntax or vocabulary of this sentence was not hard to understand, Patience couldn’t make heads of tails of it. So she ignored it. 

“Yes, ma’am,” she said, “er… that’s not too simple, is it? For the Patrician?”

“Oh no, he never eats much. Neither does Rufus. Oh, Rufus takes his tea very milky and very sweet - his only vice, it seems. But anyway, make sure to have plenty of milk and sugar on the tray.” 

“All right,” Patience said, sighing.

“For goodness' sake, Patience, Havelock and Rufus have been here for tea before, haven’t they?”

“Not since I’ve come on staff, ma’am,” Patience said emphatically. “I’m _sure_ I would have remembered it.”

“Well, don’t fret,” Sybil said, giving Patience a companionable little pat on the shoulder. “He would never dream of interfering with my house staff. Just don’t poison him.” 

Sybil laughed hysterically at this. Patience stared at her.

When Vetinari’s black carriage rolled up, at two o’clock on the dot, Sybil was waiting in the drawing room. She was pretending to embroider something because she felt like it was something a lady should do when waiting to have tea with one of the most powerful men on the disc. 

She heard Willikins let Vetinari and Drumknott in a few minutes later, and heard a little yelp from Mr. Fusspot. She smiled a bit to herself. She had been right to tell Patience to get the dog biscuits. 

“Lady Sybil,” Vetinari said, walking into the room, his walking stick tapping slightly on the stone floor. Mr. Fusspot was under his arm. Drumknott trailed in behind him, silent as a ghost. He gave a little smile to Sybil, which seemed to get a bit wider when he saw the very full sugar bowl on the tea-tray. 

Sybil had just poured tea and given Mr. Fusspot a biscuit when a quick clatter down the stairs made her sigh. Purity was still a very attentive governess, even considering her and Willikins’s current situation, but her body had this odd habit of getting her morning sickness in the early afternoon, making it easy for young Sam to sneak away from her between the hours of one and three.

“Sam,” she said as the young boy zoomed into the parlor. “I told you to stay upstairs while Havelock is here.”

“But you didn’t say Mr. Fusspot was coming!” Sam squealed with delight, crouching down by the dog and energetically patting its head. “I love him. He looks so crazy.” 

“He does at that,” Vetinari said seriously, and young Sam looked up and smiled at him. Vetinari didn’t quite smile back, but he didn’t quite not smile back either. 

“The boy can stay,” Vetinari said easily. “What we are talking about today is quite appropriate for young minds to hear.”

“Oh really?” Sybil said dryly. 

“Yes,” Vetinari said, smiling slightly, taking a sip of his black tea. 

“Is it about Sam?”

“Surprisingly enough, this only tangentially relates to Commander Vimes,” Vetinari said.

“What’s tangentially?” Sam asked, still petting Mr. Fusspot. 

“Sam…” Sybil said, sighing. “Maybe you should—”

“Nonsense, Sybil,” Vetinari said, raising an eyebrow at her. “We should never stop educating young minds. A tangent, young Sam, is a line that is only connected to a circle by a small point. So this only relates to your father very slightly.” He looked at Sam, his eyebrows raised. “You understand me, young Sam? Good.”

Vetinari took a sip of his tea and continued. 

“This actually concerns Sergeant Littlebottom and the Grag Bashfullsson.”

“They’re getting married.” Sam blurted out, now tickling Mr. Fusspot’s stomach. “I like them. I’m gonna walk in front of them at the wedding and light all the candles.”

“Yes, I find it fascinating how dwarfs have young children light things on fire during the marriage ceremony instead of throwing flower petals around as humans do,” Vetinari said, picking up a cheese sandwich. “I am sure it teaches them resilience.”

“Cheery and Bashfull?” Sybil said, frowning. “Is there some sort of problem?”

“Well, that very much depends on how you define ‘problem.’” Vetinari said, sighing. “I hear they are planning a relatively small ceremony and reception.”

“Er…yes, I believe so,” Sybil said, frowning slightly. 

“And yet news of their wedding is causing a considerable stir in Uberwald, I am told. A Grag marrying an openly female dwarf? And one of Samuel Vimes's officers, at that? The Low King of the Dwarfs even sent a clacks congratulating Grag Bashfullsson. He should really be invited, of course. But he can’t be expected to travel all that way for a small ceremony in the basement of a community center.”

Sybil sighed.

“You want them to have a bigger wedding,” she said heavily. “Well, I’m not all that sure how much money they have, I know Bashfull’s dwarf-price was rather large, what with all the education his parents put him through—”

Vetinari waved a hand dismissively. 

“Oh, that can be arranged,” he said airily. “If this becomes the... event I would like it to become, I certainly don’t mind spending some money on it. And I doubt very much the happy couple will refuse a free wedding. They _are_ dwarfs, after all.”

“But the city can’t have much money to spend on, well, weddings…” Sybil said, frowning.

“Well, to be frank, my dear Sybil, I was rather hoping I could persuade you to host it here, and to, ahah, _absorb_ most of the cost. This house has, I believe, quite large cellars which would be appropriate for the ceremony itself. And I believe you have a ballroom that is almost never used.”

“I play in there sometimes,” Sam said brightly, now sitting cross-legged with the small dog in his lap. “Sometimes I put the baby Johnetta on the floor in there and just watch her try to roll over.”

“You put Mr. Lipwig’s baby on the floor?” Sybil asked, stunned. “I don’t even think you’re big enough to _hold_ her, Sam.”

“Mr. Lipping lets me,” Young Sam shrugged. “He lets me pretend she’s a package and I’m a mailman. And I get to deliver her all over the house.” He paused for a moment. “Although he didn’t like it when I delivered her to Willikins when he was cleaning the swords. He got pretty scared.”

Vetinari’s eyes sparkled.

“Does Mrs. Lipwig know you did that?” he asked eagerly. 

“Who’s that?” 

“Ms. Dearheart, Sam. Mr. Lipwig’s wife,” Sybil explained patiently.

“Nah. She was away digging up a golem.”

“Capital,” Vetinari said happily. “I should talk to you more often, young Sam.”

“Well…” Sybil said, thinking to herself. “I suppose the cellars could do with an old airing-out… and it would be a way for us to get rid of the some of the extra produce from the country estate… and gods know we have the rats… All right. I’ll tell them it’s part of their wedding present?”

“Lovely. The four of us should meet again, soon, to discuss who should get an invitation.”

"Ah. You don't want to keep your involvement in this quiet?"

"Of course not," Vetinari said dryly. "Sergeant Littlebottom is one of Samuel Vimes's best officers. She would see right through it."

“You know what’s funny,” Young Sam said thoughtfully, laughing as Mr. Fusspot tried to lick his face. “That you thought this was only a tangent to Dad. He’s not gonna like having a big party in the cellar with the Low King coming. He’s going to yell a lot when he finds out.”

Vetinari stared at him, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

“Hmmm… well, he’s certainly turning out to be a Vimes, Sybil,” Vetinari said, gripping his walking stick and standing up. 

Sybil beamed with pride.


End file.
